


M.I.A.

by just_a_winchester



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cat BB-8, Drug Abuse, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Persons, Mystery, i honestly dont know what i was thinking but im rolling with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-26 19:50:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20747795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_winchester/pseuds/just_a_winchester
Summary: Poe's made a life for himself in San Francisco. He has a new job, a new apartment, new friends. He's happy, and he's finally moving on.And then he gets the voicemail.With his best friend's disappearance comes a whole array of questions, and Poe's never been one to leave finding answers up to someone else.Or, the one where Poe goes home and finds out just how much everything has changed.





	M.I.A.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe gets an unexpected phone call.

They say bad things happen for a reason. That bad things happen to make way for the good things. 

Poe isn't exactly sure who decided those were the rules, but he'd like to introduce them to his fist. 

The first thing he does when he reaches the end of the voicemail is panic. It's not something he does very often - and certainly not something he likes to let others witness - but every now and then, he can't shake the chokehold anxiety surprises him with, and he has to take a few minutes to remind himself to breathe. In, and out. Relax. Focus. Let go. 

The second thing he does is head to Captain Holdo's office. He's supposed to be working a case, a hit and run from a week ago. It's been driving him into a number of dead ends, and he's not surprised when Holdo looks at him with smug expectance, like she was just waiting for him to come to her for help. As if he would give in so easily. 

'Detective Dameron,' she says, settling the paperwork in her hand on her desk. 'To what do I owe this visit?' 

He stands stiffly to attention, his hands pressed together behind his back, fingers twisted together and pulling. He keeps his gaze fixed on the plant growing on the window sill behind Holdo's head, eyes repeatedly tracing the curve of the leaves as they droop sadly towards the floor. 'Captain,' he begins, swallowing away the dryness in his mouth. 'I need permission for personal leave. Effective immediately.'

Her eyebrows fly upwards in surprise. 'On what grounds, Detective?'

His heart thrums in his chest like a humming bird. 'Family emergency.' His voice is rough when he says it. He can feel his phone in his pocket like a weight, the voicemail it contains heavy against his thigh, burning a hole through his pants.

Holdo considers him carefully, her chin resting on her hand. She's always had a careful way of looking at him, a smile quirking her lips, eyes narrowed as though she sees right through him. He can never tell what she's thinking, and it makes his heart thud harder in his chest at the thought that she might reject him. 

'This is very sudden, Detective. Is everything alright?'

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. A bead of cold sweat is making it's agonising way down his neck. 'Everything's fine, Ma'am. I just need to go home.' He's avoiding the question. But she wouldn't agree if she knew the truth - that it's not a family emergency. It's far more important than that, but she wouldn't understand.

Holdo gets to her feet and steps around the table towards him. He's still surprised by how much taller than him she is, how much strength hides beneath her thin exterior. He doesn't meet her gaze when she stands close to him, her hands clasped behind her back, her mouth pressed into a tight frown. 

'Given your record, I'm not overly inclined to say yes,' she says.

He freezes, his breath sharp in his nostrils, his skin tingling with anticipation. He knows what she's talking about, knows about the marks in his record. Dameron, the hotshot rookie, the arrogant detective, the one who fires first and asks questions later. He knows she's picturing him running off to Vegas to go gambling, heading over to Europe, or flying up to Canada. All he can think about is what he'll do if she says no - his badge and gun on her desk, the quick thanks he'll give her and then the walk of shame through the sea of colleagues that wait behind him. 

So he tries a different tactic. 'I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important.' He finally meets her gaze and holds it, pushing every ounce of earnestness he has into his eyes. 'Please, Captain.' He doesn't use that word often, and he's thankful for that because the effect it has is instantaneous. Her lips twitch, and then she nods sharply, as though whatever she was looking for in his face she's found. 

'Permission granted. You have two weeks.' Her tone emphasises the "two" part, and he knows that this is the only chance he's going to get from her. Also meaning: if he fucks this up he's out of a job.

He nods his thanks and turns. The minute he crosses the threshold of her office he's moving quickly, darting through the bullpen towards his desk. The case file he was working on is scattered across his work station - he hurriedly gathers it together and shoves the papers into it's designated manila folder, tossing it over onto Wexley's desk. Snap will be grateful; he'd been hounding Poe for days about joining him on the investigation. Congrats, Snap - you've been promoted. 

He grabs his bag and jacket and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time. His car is parked a block away, and he runs down the street, his feet matching the rhythm of his heart as it thrums in his chest. Rey's voicemail bounces around in his head as he slides into his car and pulls onto the road, heading home as quickly as he can. 

_'Hey Poe. It's Rey.'_

He runs a red light but barely notices, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He hasn't felt this tense in a long while; it's like he's a wind-up toy, and someone's just reset the spring in his back. At some point it's going to release, but he doesn't know when and he doesn't know how it will manifest. He can guess it'll be something erratic; he's already driving ten miles over the speed limit, which is probably something he should be keeping an eye on, given he's just run off duty from his job at a police station, but he finds he doesn't have the energy to care. The quicker he gets home, the quicker he'll get to the airport. 

_'I know it's been a long time since we've talked.'_

It takes him fifteen minutes to run inside and pack a bag. He doesn't concentrate on what he's packing, bundling random pieces of clothing into his rucksack alongside a handful of clean underwear and socks. He grabs his toothbrush from the bathroom and his passport from the dresser before heading back downstairs. He stops in the hall to change his shoes and realises he still has his gun strapped to his hip. His fingers brush the cold metal and he pauses. He can't take it on the plane with him, but he doesn't want to leave it behind. He's probably going to need it in New York.

_'I didn't know who else to call.'_

He resignedly unstraps the holster from his hip and heads to the safe he keeps in his living room. If he really needs a weapon, he knows there'll be places to score one if he goes looking. He just hopes it won't come to that, because he's already putting his neck on the line. A few moments kneeling on the floor, and his gun is locked away. He locks up his place and heads back to his car, his fingers searching for a flight on his phone. The airport will charge him a premium for parking, but he doesn't care as long as he can find a flight out. His hands shake as he selects his flight details, the dryness in his mouth only getting worse the more he thinks about it. About going home. 

_'I guess I'll just get straight to the point.'_

Poe takes a second to look back at his house, at the weatherboard walls and the small garden and the mailbox he built last summer. His life, all piled into a tiny house in the suburbs. The rational part of his brain decides to kick in - this is insane, he's insane, he can't uproot everything he's built and just go home because of one phone call. Not after all this time- 

He shakes himself, and pulls away from the curb without another glance back. If he doesn't leave, he's never going to forgive himself. 

_'Finn's gone. I need your help.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I guess I'm starting a new story - I hope you guys liked it. This is just a little prologue to get the ball rolling. Thanks for reading!
> 
> \- j.a.w xxx


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